


before the precipice

by Aeriel



Category: Les liaisons dangereuses | Dangerous Liaisons - Choderlos de Laclos
Genre: F/M, Gen, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 07:15:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeriel/pseuds/Aeriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Madame de Tourvel tries to be good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	before the precipice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [koroleva_dramy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/koroleva_dramy/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide! I found I required a first name for Madame de Tourvel, so I used Marianne, her name in the Vadim film of the same title. This story veers away from the original book in one major respect, that is that the Marquise de Merteuil comes to Madame de Rosemonde's in person rather than writing Cecile.

Marianne de Tourvel knew what it was like to be married young. She had been brought up in a convent, just like Cecile Volanges, and just like Cecile Volanges, been plucked out to marry a suitable older man. The difference was that, unlike Cecile, she had always been unflinchingly obedient. There was no other man, no secret romance. There was only the Presidente de Tourvel, a kind but stern judge who had kissed her hand and sent shivers down her spine.  
  
This, she had thought, was love. She marveled at his work from afar, and held him in her arms when they were alone. He encouraged her to take an interest in the poor and wretched, and although Marianne was aware that some of her friends found her enthusiasm for charity work a subject of great amusement, she took great pleasure in the light that came into people's eyes when she handed them bread or coin. And this, she had thought, was life.  
  
There were other ways of living, Marianne was keenly aware; ways that made her nervous and a little sick. Like most everyone, Tourvel attended the opera, and among the hordes of respectable women there was the occasional flash of gaudy silk and jewels accompanied by the murmur behind fans that so and so had taken a lady of the night instead of their paramour. She had tried going with a priest to a dying prostitute once, and the woman had spat in her face.  
  
These women were, in their own way, as poor and destitute as the families that Marianne visited, and yet they scorned her and everything that she stood for. When she thought about it, all she could do was pray to God for guidance and greater understanding and sympathy for their plight.  
  
And then there was the Vicomte de Valmont. Most men indulged themselves from time to time- the Presidente de Tourvel had told his wife this with some disgust in his voice- but Valmont took indulgence to excess.  
  
He was everything that she had been taught to revile in a man.  
  
And yet, she was not repulsed. When they were introduced by Madame de Rosemonde, he bent and kissed her hand, just as her husband had done all those years ago. And if Marianne thought she saw a wolfish grin cross his face, it was gone so quickly she later told herself she had imagined it.  
  
He spoke softly, and approached her like a hunter stalking a deer. It was unnerving, she told herself, and she did not appreciate it. Whenever possible, she tried to keep Madame de Rosemonde in the room with them, but then of course the day came when she was not.  
  
"You remind me of a dear friend of mine," he said, and she tried not to look as insulted as she felt. "The Marquise de Merteuil."  
  
Whatever she had expected him to say, it had never been that! The Marquise was a respectable widow, and though unlike Tourvel she did not shun the Vicomte's company, hearing that they were close friends changed Marianne's perception of him immeasurably.  
  
Madame de Tourvel had never met the Marquise, of course. She was most frequently seen at the sort of parties that the Presidente de Tourvel eschewed, finding them "trivial and base". It was said that she flirted outrageously, but was in reality utterly chaste. Indeed, Marianne would never have known that the Marquise had ever taken a lover if it were not for a rumor Madame de Volanges had written her of certain indiscretions committed in grief after her husband's passing.  
  
Marianne, of course, never flirted at all. She had a husband that she adored, and respected, and did not think love was something to be trifled with.  
  
The trouble was, she was beginning to think that the Vicomte de Valmont felt the same way. He was downright serious in his conversation with her, particularly when he said he loved her.  
  
She hated him for that. She had just been thinking they could have a beautiful friendship, and wouldn't everyone be surprised at what an outstanding gentleman Valmont really was, and then he had to go and prove her friends right and say he loved her.  
  
God, she decided, must be testing her. She had proved in some way wanting, and He was tempting her with this man who was attentive in a way her husband never had been, who made her laugh and smile and who claimed to have been inspired by her to do good works!  
  
Marianne knew she had to put aside any feeling besides that of friendship, for both their sakes. Hadn't he said that he was influenced by the behavior of the people around him? If she were to waver, even for an instant, he would surely take it as as a sign to- to do what, she was not precisely sure, but something in her knew that if he kissed her it would not be the way it was when her husband kissed her.  
  
She had never succumbed to temptation before. She would not now.  
  
It was a relief when the Volanges came to Rosemonde's estate. Valmont's letters had been increasing in passion, and she was beginning to feel positively barraged with his affections.  
  
"My dear friend," she said as soon as she was alone with Madame de Volanges, "what am I to do? In his last letter he said that he could feel in his heart that only I could make him happy."  
  
"A vicious lie," Madame de Volanges said with confidence, squeezing Marianne's hand. "He is willfully deceiving you, and playing on your soft heart. God will punish him for such ill deeds."  
  
Marianne's hand went limp in Madame de Volanges' grip. "Punish him? For loving me?"  
  
"For convincing you that he loves at all," Madame de Volanges said sharply. "I do not believe the man is capable of love."  
  
Dear Madame de Volanges! She was so much older and wiser than Marianne, that it was hard not to believe her when she spoke with such conviction.  
  
And so when the Vicomte de Valmont returned again, he found quite a chilly reception. It was easier to ignore him than it might have been, since Madame had brought her daughter, a bright young girl easily prone to blushing. Cecile was quite charming in mixed company, and so Marianne contrived to spend what time she could with her.  
  
"I know it must be very strange to be out in society after the convent," she said sympathetically to Cecile, who shyly averted her eyes and toyed with the necklace around her neck. "Have you met your fiancé yet?"  
  
Cecile shook her head.  
  
"I hear wonderful things about him," Marianne added. "He must be kind and generous of spirit, or else your mother would not have chosen him."  
  
The words she had hoped to encourage the young girl with had the opposite effect- she pulled her shawl close around her and stared firmly at the ground.  
  
It was then that Madame de Tourvel recalled what Madame de Volanges had said about their coming here-- that Cecile had been receiving love letters from her music teacher, and that Cecile had admitted to encouraging his affections.  
  
"I'm sorry. I know marriage must seem terribly frightful and far away to you," she said, gently. "It was foolish of me to speak of Monsieur de Gercourt. Let us think on lighter matters. Isn't Madame de Rosemonde's garden exquisite?"  
  
Cecile met her eyes at last, and nodded.  
  
Marianne was shocked to receive another letter from the Vicomte de Valmont, despite him continuing to reside within the same house as her. This one daring to reproach her for ignoring him despite her having caught him observing her in a manner that she could almost describe as lustful.  
  
She penned an indignant reply before bed, and gave it to one of Madame de Rosemonde's servants to give to Valmont.  
  
Two days later, the Marquise de Merteuil appeared at the estate.  
  
Marianne was not there for her arrival, encountering her for the first time at supper.  
  
The Marquise sat between Valmont, who lavished her with compliments that she deflected ably, and Madame de Volanges, who looked rather annoyed at being unable to converse with her cousin due to Valmont's never-ending chatter.  
  
Marianne had just sat down beside Madame de Rosemonde when the Marquise turned to her, with a smile that did not quite touch her eyes. "Ah, Madame de Tourvel. What a pleasure to meet you at last."  
  
"The pleasure is mutual, Madame," Marianne said, because there was nothing else she could say. Not that it wasn't a pleasure to meet the famed Marquise de Merteuil, only upon meeting her, she wondered why on earth Valmont had ever thought to compare them. There was such obvious poise and self-control in everything the Marquise did, even when spearing her asparagus. And they were certainly a study in contrasts when it came to physical appearance- the one voluptuous and dark-eyed, the other slight with eyes of blue.  
  
More dramatic a contrast still was the Marquise to Cecile Volanges, who had become even more withdrawn, though now when pressed, she burst into tears and shook her head violently. Though she smiled a little for the Marquise de Merteuil, she still only sampled her food and would not make conversation with anybody.  
  
From the dinner conversation, Marianne gathered that the Marquise had come at Madame de Volanges' request as a treat for Cecile. She already knew that Cecile's engagement was being reconsidered, although Marianne doubted that was the cause of Cecile's strange ailment. Really, Cecile looked far better tonight than she had in quite a while. Perhaps it was simply loneliness-- for much as Marianne tried to be friendly, she knew she was no replacement for the friends Cecile had made at the convent.  
  
On the way to her room, Marianne encountered the Marquise once again. Her dark eyes scrutinized Marianne for a moment before she spoke. "No paint. That's a bold choice."  
  
"My husband prefers the English fashions," Marianne said, which was only half the truth. She personally was relieved that they weren't of a class that required her to paint her face, finding the effect unnatural and generally unflattering. On the Marquise, though, she had to admit the effect did accentuate the best parts of her face in the way paint was supposed to do.  
  
"How quaint," the Marquise commented, in a tone that seemed genuinely amused. "Madame de Volanges tells me you've been extremely concerned over Cecile's welfare here."  
  
"Oh, yes. I cannot help but feel a certain kinship to her, having… spent some time in a convent myself." She had almost mentioned being married at fifteen, but she had recalled in time that the Marquise had been married at the same age, and did not want to raise the spectre of Merteuil's death before his devoted widow.  
  
"What a kindness," remarked the Marquise. "Truly, reports of your goodness have not been exaggerated, Madame de Tourvel."  
  
"I.. thank you, Madame."  
  
"The Vicomte de Valmont has complimented you as well. Indeed, it seems it should be I who is thanking you for taming my old friend." There was the slightest curl to the Marquise's lip, but once she had finished speaking, Marianne could find no sign of insincerity on her face or her manner.  
  
"It's really nothing. The Vicomte chooses his own path, for better or worse, it seems," Marianne said, forcing a laugh.  
  
"Indubitably. Well, it is late, and I must retire."  
  
Marianne smiled nervously, hoping their apartments were not near each other. There was something very intimidating about the Marquise. "Then I will bid you good night, Madame."  
  
"Good night."  
  
Their paths diverged at the top of the stair, and Marianne heaved a private sigh of relief. She even found herself pleased to see the Vicomte passing by her door.  
  
"Where are you going?" she inquired. "There's no one in the drawing room."  


**Author's Note:**

> The last line is quoted from Letter 99, from the Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil. What follows is, of course, Valmont's near seduction of Tourvel followed by her flight from Rosemonde's estate.


End file.
